


Once More You Open the Door

by airgeer



Category: Glee
Genre: Comedy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-04
Updated: 2013-02-04
Packaged: 2017-11-28 06:05:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/671132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airgeer/pseuds/airgeer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt and Blaine try to find some private time. It turns out banjos don’t help. Neither does football, Puck, or even Celine Dion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once More You Open the Door

**Author's Note:**

> For boysinperil's fluff prompt, that I twisted into a monster. A fluffy monster. And yes, the title is from a Celine Dion song, *that* Celine Dion song, and I'm sorry. Set during the winter of S3.

***

 

Blaine pulled Kurt into the living room, sniffling a little from the cold outside, and dropped down onto the sofa. "Okay, I know you said that I wasn't allowed to talk about it anymore because it just encourages him, but seriously-"

 

"Blaine." Kurt stopped in front of him, and he let his eyes travel up his boyfriend’s long, long torso to reach the amused quirk of his mouth. "Do you really think that what Finn did to the all-you-can-eat pasta bar deserves further discussion, or do you want to take advantage of the fact that the house is empty, and will be for the foreseeable future?"

 

Blaine listened to the silence for a moment, waiting for the creak of a floorboard that would indicate another presence, but nothing came. "Where is everyone?"

 

"Carole's at her mother's, Dad's out with 'the guys' watching the game-"

 

"Forgot that was on-"

 

"-and Finn's nursing a pasta hangover, presumably at Rachel's house. We're all alone, and... and you're reaching for the remote control."

 

Blaine smiled up at him apologetically, flicking the tv on. "I've got a bet with Puck on who wins, I just need to see the score."

 

"No one wins when they gamble with Puck, Blaine, it's on page three of that McKinley orientation pamphlet I made you."

 

"He can't fix the outcome of a football game, Kurt. It's like, illegal. And he's not exactly rich."

 

"That's not what I mean. Your team might win, but you're still going to lose. It's how it works."

 

Blaine's phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out to see a text from Puck: "get ready to lose, loser."

 

"He's trash-talking me?"

 

"I guess that could be construed as trash-talking, but I've heard worse walking past the elementary school." Kurt paused, cocking his head to one side. "I've heard exactly that walking past the elementary school. Actually, I think he might have said that to Finn while we were in elementary school. He hasn't really changed his M.O. since then."

 

Kurt sat down beside him, wincing as the long snapper fired the ball back to the punter and got plowed over on his way back up. Blaine hurriedly texted back "I'm not the one who just punted on fourth and seventeen from their own fifteen, so I guess we'll see," and placed his phone on the coffee table, looking at Kurt hopefully.

 

He was watching the screen avidly, avoiding Blaine's eyes and seemingly engrossed in the action on screen, which was by that point a commercial for Progressive car insurance. It being a commercial instead of the game actually made it more likely that Kurt was interested in what was happening onscreen, but the tiny smiley crinkle at his eyes said otherwise.

 

He'd shaved before Kurt had picked him up for their date, but he knew that he already had a slight rasp to his jaw, invisible but touchable. He leaned over and into Kurt, sitting up as straight as he could to gently move his face along Kurt's neck, rubbing the stubble along his sensitive skin.

 

Kurt stiffened, holding perfectly still, but could only hold it for a moment before he squeaked out a giggle and squirmed away. Blaine followed, only to have the tables turned when Kurt pulled him down on top of him and kissed him firmly, sliding down on the couch until their bodies slotted together comfortably and the air of playfulness was gone.

 

Kurt's body felt electric against his, warm and sweet and slightly shaky, like he was already overwhelmed. Blaine felt the same, running a hand down Kurt's side and up his coat, pulling at the hem of his shirt carefully, untucking it but not stretching the fabric. Only one makeout had needed to end abruptly with a lecture about taking care of clothing for Blaine to learn that lesson.

 

He opened his mouth slightly, deepening the kiss as he slid his hand up Kurt's side. Kurt mirrored him, walking his fingers up Blaine's spine and sending shivers through him, fingertips sliding against his skin.

 

The sound of the front door opening put an end to everything, Blaine jerking up to his knees, narrowly avoiding Kurt's arm as he flailed and tried to push himself up from underneath Blaine's weight on his hips.

 

"Hello?" Burt called. "Kurt? Finn? You here?"

 

"In the living room!" Kurt called, too brightly, the strain audible as Blaine jumped off him and the couch and he tried to tuck his shirt back in through his coat, sitting up straight.

 

Blaine sat back down beside him, tucking his own shirt back in and glancing at the tv, where the game was still on. Burt poked his head through the archway, tipping his hat back on his forehead. "Oh, Blaine, didn't think you'd be here." His forehead wrinkled and cleared as he looked at the tv screen. "You're watching the game?"

 

He sounded sceptical, and Blaine knew that he couldn't nod sincerely enough to make Kurt willingly watching sports believable, so he settled for looking at Kurt and hoping he'd answer.

 

"Blaine wanted to check the score, we just got back. I thought you were watching the game at the bar?"

 

"Well, I was, and then Carole called and said she'd be home early, and I wanted to be here when she arrived." Burt sat down in his arm chair, flashing a satisfied smile at the tv screen. "Nice to see I didn't miss too much."

 

Kurt fidgeted, his hip nudging against Blaine's. Blaine felt hot and too sensitive, but he resisted the urge to open his collar, not wanting to clue Burt in that they’d been doing anything less innocent than watching a bit of the game.

 

“Well,” Burt said finally, “don’t let me keep you from whatever you were doing. I’m sure you’ve got something better to do than watch the game.”

 

They did, they definitely did, but would it be too obvious to go up to Kurt’s room now? Blaine shrugged casually and looked at Kurt, who rose, standing composed like they hadn’t just been starting a make out session on the couch.

 

“We’re just going to hang out in my room for a bit, okay?” Kurt smiled, offering a Blaine a hand up.

 

Burt grunted acknowledgement and waved them away. Kurt patted his shoulder on the way past, leading Blaine upstairs and into his room, closing the door behind them. The quiet click it made as it closed meant more than it had before. It was their victory over getting caught, the signal of a safe zone, and- Blaine stopped himself before his comparisons got overdramatic, ignoring the niggling voice that told him they already had.

 

Blaine watched Kurt unbutton his jacket and carefully sling it over the back of a chair, bending over to untie his boots, his back to Blaine. Blaine tore his gaze away, pulling off his own coat and scarf, only to see Kurt out of the corner of his eye as he muffled a laugh with his hand.

 

“Why are you laughing?” he asked, looking at his outfit to make sure everything was where it should be. It wasn’t, several of his buttons had come undone during their aborted up-shirt session, but that wasn’t terribly funny.

 

He looked back to Kurt, who shook his head. “Nothing, nothing.” He pulled off one boot, setting it aside, and reached down for the other. “I’m just  _really_  glad my dad didn’t come in through the kitchen. Could you imagine if he’s caught us making out with a football game on in the background?”

 

“Maybe he’d think it was some sort of positive association exercise to help you like sports more, and he’d totally support it.” Blaine toed off his loafers and laid his coat on top of Kurt’s.

 

“Or maybe I’d get a lecture about appropriate places for kissing, and you’d have to go home. I think mine’s more likely.” Kurt stepped in a little closer, his toes brushing against Blaine’s.

 

“Mine’s better, though.”

 

“What, my dad encouraging us to make out? Really, Blaine?”

 

Kurt looked slightly dangerous, like he was daring Blaine to continue, and he decided that he didn’t want to take that dare, shrugging instead. “No?”

 

“No.” Kurt took his hands in his and walked him backwards to the bed, sitting down and pulling Blaine down beside him. “Now, at this point we have two options.”

 

“Okay.”

 

“One: we continue to discuss things that make me never want to risk getting caught ever again-”

 

“Okay, option one is not great-”

 

“No, it’s really not.” Kurt cocked an eyebrow at him. “Option two is putting on some music and going from there.” He made a complicated hand gesture that Blaine couldn’t quite follow, but assumed meant something good.

 

“I like option two,” Blaine said quickly.

 

Kurt stood up, digging his phone out of his pocket and scrolling through with well-practiced fingers. He put it in his dock a moment later, grinning triumphantly at Blaine as a twanging banjo filled the room.

 

“Wait, what?” The banjo got more enthusiastic, and for a second Blaine thought he was listening to Mumford and Sons, but then the yodeling kicked in.

 

“I made an unsexy playlist,” Kurt explained proudly. “No one would ever suspect that we were doing anything but covering our ears with this on, so we’ve got nothing to worry about.”

 

“I don’t want to do anything except for cover my ears, though,” Blaine complained. The yodelers sounded familiar, too familiar to be a coincidence. “Is this even professional, or did you just give Sam and Finn banjos?” he asked incredulously.

 

“I bribed them with food,” Kurt said brightly. “If dad comes up, we can say it’s for Glee.”

 

“I’m not sure this was a good-”

 

Blaine’s phone buzzed, and he gave up trying to talk over the music. He pulled his phone from his pocket to read Puck’s “fuck you dude” text, and he grinned. “Looks like the Steelers lost.”

 

“And you won? Oh, honey, you’re going to live to regret that.”

 

“The bet was that the loser has to serenade someone of the winner’s choice tomorrow. Even if I’d lost, I still would’ve got to sing, so I couldn’t lose.” Blaine grinned, proud of himself, and was considering letting Puck pick someone for him to sing to anyway when Kurt punctured his balloon of self-satisfaction.

 

“We’ll see if you still think that when he throws you in the dumpster tomorrow for winning.”

 

Blaine froze. “He wouldn’t.” Kurt nodded gravely. “He would?”

 

“It’s Puck, Blaine, of course he would.”

 

“Well, in that case, I guess I’ve got a date with a dumpster, because he’s going to serenade Mr. Schue with “My Heart Will Go On” tomorrow in Glee.” Blaine squared his shoulders bravely as Sam and Finn’s yodeling rose to a crescendo and finally, mercifully stopped.

 

“I don’t think he’ll do Celine justice.” Kurt didn’t seem pleased, but any guilt Blaine felt over that was quickly eclipsed by the fact that Kurt had put the banjo yodeling on repeat and it had started again,  _why_ -

 

There was a knock at the door, not quiet, and Kurt paused the music on his way to answer it, the room suddenly ominously silent. He pulled the door open, and jumped back with a yelp of surprise. “Puck?”

 

“What?” Puck asked. “I knocked and everything, dude, it’s not my fault you were up to some sort of Swedish hillbilly sex game.”

 

“What?” Kurt’s jaw dropped, his face showing the confusion Blaine felt before realizing what Puck had to mean. “Oh, the music.”

 

“You can call it whatever you want, I don’t care. I have to talk to your boyfriend.”

 

“You  _just_ texted me, what are you doing here?” Blaine could feel the last chances for any fooling around that night evaporating into smoke, and it was making him testy. Or maybe Finn and Sam had accidentally hit upon the vocal recipe for driving people insane, he wasn’t sure anymore.

 

“I just wanted to make sure that you weren’t going to make me sing to Santana or anything, because I think she might be looking for a reason to kick me in the nads.” Puck crossed his arms, and standing next to Kurt he looked very, very large.

 

“Are you going to throw me in a dumpster if I do?” Blaine asked defiantly. He stood up, hoping to make himself look bigger, but Puck looked appalled rather than angry.

 

“What? No, dude, no! I’m totally past that phase of my life, I would never.” He seemed genuine, and Blaine relaxed a little. “I might do something else though, if you try to embarrass me.”

 

“Like what?” Blaine asked. He wasn’t sure what he expected Puck to say, but he imagined wedgies and stolen bowties would be the front-runners.

 

“Like I might do a little bit of  _extra_  serenading.” Puck waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Blaine was completely lost.

 

“What?”

 

Puck sighed, apparently giving up on subtlety. “I’ll steal away your boyfriend with my mad singing skills, dude. You’re good, but you can’t compete with my raw sex appeal.”

 

“Yes I can! Kurt, tell him, I totally can.” Blaine looked at Kurt for support, but he was staring at Puck with his jaw slightly slack, an faint expression of either disgust or intrigue on his face. Probably disgust. “Kurt?”

 

“You’ll steal me away,” Kurt said flatly. “Are you serious?”

 

“I know, right now you’re all like ‘Whatever, he’s really built and a total stud, but I’m happy with my boyfriend’, but all I need is one song, and you’ll be all ‘OMG, how did I never see it before’.” Puck affected a high tone to imitate Kurt, and then looked back at Blaine. “Are you really willing to risk your boy over this?”

 

“Um, yes? I don’t really think it’s a risk at all.” Blaine looked Puck up and down. “And I think you’re bluffing. You’re going to sing My Heart Will Go On, and you’re going to sing it to Mr. Schue.”

 

“Fine. Maybe I am bluffing. Maybe I’m not, I guess you’ll find out tomorrow.” Puck winked at Kurt, who shuddered faintly, and turned on his heel, stepping back out. “If you decide to change your mind, you’ve got my number,” he called over his shoulder.

 

“Wait, Puck!” Blaine called. “Please, just a minute.” He affected a defeated tone, letting his shoulders slump. “I’m not changing my song, but we’re friends right?” He didn’t let Puck respond, rushing past Kurt to whisper into Puck’s ear. “If you do sing to Kurt, please,  _please_  don’t sing Lady Marmalade. It’s sort of our song, you know?”

 

“Wait, actually?” Puck said loudly. “That’s weird, dude.”

 

“I know, but it is,” Blaine said desperately. “Just whatever you do, please don’t sing that song.”

 

“No worries, dude, I would never, ever, do that,” Puck said quickly, taking off down the hall. “Except I totally would, so I’ll see you tomorrow, sucker!”

 

“What did you tell him not to sing?” Kurt asked, betrayed sounding. “You have to know that there’s no song in the world that makes that haircut attractive or even okay.”

 

“No, I know,” Blaine said, his smile threatening to take over his face. “I told him Lady Marmalade was our song, and he’s going to get up in front of everyone and sing it.”

 

“Reverse psychology,” Kurt said, laughing suddenly. “I’m finding it really hard to believe that you’re the first person to ever win when they bet against Puck, but I guess you just have to be able to think down to his level. Oh, can we sing backup?” he asked brightly.

 

“I would have been disappointed if we didn’t.”

 

Kurt clapped his hands together. “I don’t know about you, but I think this calls for celebratory kissing and rolling around on the bed.”

 

It was in poor taste to celebrate obviously when kissing was involved, so Blaine let his grin speak for him as Kurt crowded him back onto the bed and lay down beside him. “Not that I’m complaining, but I think the whole tricking-Puck-into-singing-a-girl-song thing might make this the weirdest lead-in to kissing we’ve ever had,” Blaine said, pressing their lips together softly.

 

“The first time you kissed me, I was decorating a casket for a dead bird. This is a tiny blip on the weird radar compared to that. And anyway, if Puck steals me away from you tomorrow, do you really want to have wasted time talking about weird kiss environments?”

 

“No, you’re absolutely right,” Blaine said, as seriously as he could. “We need to use all the time we have left together, just in case.”

 

He wiggled closer to Kurt, tilting his head to make kissing easier and-

 

“Whoops!”

 

“Oh my god,  _Dad_!”

 

Burt stood in the doorway, the door still ajar, why hadn’t they closed the door, and Blaine rolled away as quickly as he could without hitting Kurt with any flailing limbs.

 

“I was just coming up to say that Carole’s ten minutes away, if you wanted to come say hi, but you’re busy? Let’s say you’re busy, and I would’ve knocked but the door was open already, and I heard some weird music and Finn’s friend was here to see you, so I wasn’t expecting you to be having private time, so I’m just going to go, and you can come down when you’re ready.”

 

The door closed with a click, and Blaine sagged against the mattress. “We’re not going to kiss tonight, are we,” he said, letting his resignation colour his voice. “The world doesn’t want us to.”

 

“Oh, no, we are,” Kurt said, eyes blazing. He slung a leg over Blaine’s hip, straddling him, and leaned down until his breath brushed against Blaine’s lips. “We’ve got ten minutes.”

 

***


End file.
